Broken
by Amos Whirly
Summary: House and Cameron have a strange relationship, one that neither of them understands and both of them are afraid of. [WIP]
1. Perspectives, Part One: Dr House

A/N: The first few stories here were previously independent, but I decided to make them one big series that all fits together. Don't know when it'll be done. Enjoy. _Amos Whirly_**

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**Broken  
House, M.D.  
Amos Whirly**

**Perspectives -- Part One: Dr. House**

The roar of giant engines and the fragrance of hydraulic fluid and gasoline saturated the cool evening air in the New Jersey arena like the anesthetic and alcohol in the sterilized halls of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Cheering crowds, deafening engines, shattering fiberglass – it was all the destruction of a demolition derby, with all the thrill of a NASCAR race, and all the power of Vicodin.

She was beautiful.

He admitted it to himself. He hadn't allowed himself to do so at the hospital. Work was work. Anything else at work other than work itself was inappropriate, after all, and he had to retain a certain amount of profundity around his staff. Otherwise, they might start thinking he was some kind of nice guy.

And he just couldn't have that.

But tonight wasn't work. Tonight he was at a monster truck show with a beautiful woman, who just happened to be a brilliant doctor. Tonight, he could wear a ball cap and eat cotton candy. Tonight, he didn't have to fend off stupid people, hypochondriacs, or pestering hospital administrators.

No façades. No sneers. No cruel comments.

It didn't mean he was letting his guard down. That would never happen, but he would, however, allow himself to relax. He was in his element. Monster trucks. He'd loved them since he was a kid. And Cameron didn't know what they were? Ridiculous. Kids nowadays didn't know anything.

Gravedigger was crushing cars and jumping ramps, massive tires kicking up dust all over the arena floor.

Cameron's face was priceless. Why hadn't he brought a camera? That's right. He didn't own one. But the first time that giant truck flew—as if it had sprouted wings—he would have paid any price to capture the expression on the young doctor's face.

Part of him was thrilled to share the strange joy he derived from watching the enormous vehicles soaring through the air. Part of him was leery, not trusting the female species farther than he could hit with his cane. The other part of him was nervous. He'd never let anyone else other than Wilson into this part of his life, this boyish pleasure at big toys. Most adults, especially ones supposedly of his intellectual echelon, would have considered it preposterous.

Like he cared what anyone else thought.

At the end of the show, Cameron clapped excitedly, her big eyes bright and shining. They gathered their things and went down to the main floor, flashing their 500 dollar badges proudly to any security guard that tried to question them.

He'd told a particularly obese guard to leave them alone and go finish his donut. Cameron had laughed at that. They wandered around aimlessly, looking at all the trucks, talking about nothing, laughing at the colorful dregs of society all around them.

He felt like a teenager again.

Not an embittered, pill-popping, forty-something cripple with a medical degree and a penchant for making random nurses cry.

"That was amazing!" Cameron exclaimed, picking at her cotton candy. Her tone was sincere. She wasn't playing him. She was serious. She had really enjoyed it.

Interesting.

"I'm telling you, Gravedigger never disappoints," he returned with a tenor of pride evident in his deep voice.

He limped beside her, pulling the last of his cotton candy off of its paper cone holder. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her gaze switch to a motorcycle rider couple in black leather and chains, sharing a drink and laughing together about something.

He felt the question coming before she asked it and grimaced inside.

"Were you ever married?"

He answered, gruffly gentle and somewhat disappointed, "Let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal."

She looked away. He had managed to shut her out without being mean about it. Nice. But for some reason, it stung and made his chest constrict slightly.

His thoughts immediately turned to the person who _should _have been there with him.

Wilson.

His _friend_ who'd dumped him for – for her. Stacey, the constitutional lawyer. Just hearing her name again sent a shock of pain through him that made him want to reach for the supply of Vicodin in his pocket.

_Stop it_, he told his mind and blinked. _They were friends. It's perfectly natural for them to want to catch up._ His gaze shifted to Cameron. _Don't take it out on her, you old grouch_.

"I lived with someone once," he said aloud before he could stop himself.

She didn't ask. She just nodded.

Good girl.

"You gonna' finish that?" he indicated her cotton candy, switching his empty paper cone to his other hand and limping awkwardly as he held out his hand.

She flashed a smirk at him that lit up her eyes and pulled another piece off before handing the rest of it to him. He took a big bite, and she grinned and pulled it out of his hands. He grumbled out loud, and she laughed, dashing through the exit gates.

"I'll race you to the car!" she giggled.

"You're on," he tossed the paper cone to the garbage can and limped after her as best he could. After three years with that cane, he was fairly proficient with it.

It was almost a tie.

She was faster, yeah, but he knew how to cut corners. Even so, she let him win, he was sure, but he didn't care. They stopped at the car, laughing for no real reason.

Laughing.

He was laughing.

When was the last time he had laughed? _Really_ laughed? What was wrong with him?

Once their laughter faded, they just leaned on the car together, watching the lights on the arena lighting up the night sky.

"This was fun," she commented.

"Yeah."

"Thanks for asking me."

He looked down at her. She was looking up at him, a pleasant smile on her face. "Anytime."

"I don't suppose—" she started.

"—We could do it again sometime?"

She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow, and her smile brightened. "Anything's possible."

They fell into companionable silence, watching the moon peek out from behind the clouds before they climbed into the car. Cameron had driven, of course. They rode in silence, the radio playing softly.

"I can't believe you'd never heard of monster trucks," he commented finally.

"Me neither. I think I missed out big."

"I suppose you were into Barbie dolls like any other self-respecting girl."

"Actually—" she hesitated. Was that a blush creeping up her face?

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're blushing. That's not nothing. Unless you have some kind of skin condition I wasn't aware of, and in that case I can recommend a fungal cream that'll clear it right up."

Her blush had increased. She changed lanes and sighed. "I ran a clinic."

"Huh?"

"A clinic," her voice was embarrassed. "I fixed all my friend's dolls that had been broken. Stitched up stuffed animals, glued Transformers back together. Stupid stuff, like that."

He chuckled, for a moment envisioning Cameron as a child, playing doctor to a world of injured elephants, monkeys, and long-legged supermodels.

"Practice, huh?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "That's not stupid."

"It's not?"

"No."

She glanced at him with a smile. He pretended not to notice.

She pulled up in front of his apartment, and he climbed out, saying, "It wasn't a date, remember."

"I remember," she teased. "If it had been, you would have driven _and _paid for the cotton candy."

"I'll reimburse you. Promise."

"Don't mention it."

He paused, leaning on the car roof and peering into the interior. Cameron was still smiling.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Tomorrow. And, Cameron?"

"Yeah?"

"You really liked it?" He was skeptical, highly skeptical. Maybe she was just acting after all.

She regarded him quietly and nodded. "Yeah," her voice was genuine. "I really did."

He nodded and pushed away from the car. "Good night."

"Good night, Dr. House."

He shut the door and watched her drive off.

"She liked it," he shrugged. "Hm. Who would've guessed?"

He limped up the stairs to his apartment and entered, locking the door behind him. He settled into his favorite chair and propped his leg up.

Strange. It hadn't seemed to bother him at all during the show.

He leaned back and turned on his radio, the sweet sound of a Mozart piano concerto flowing over the speakers fluidly and filling the dimly lit room.

He pulled his Vicodin out of his pocket and set it on the table beside the chair, his mind focused on something else other than the constant pain.

"Mozart," he muttered. "Hm. Wonder if she likes piano too?"


	2. Perspectives, Part Two: Dr Cameron

**Broken  
House, M.D.  
Amos Whirly**

**Perspectives -- Part Two: Dr. Cameron**

It was loud, louder than anything she had ever heard. The roaring engines revved and gunned with deafening vibrato that made her lungs rattle and her head spin. The intensifying timbre of the massive engines caused her heart rate to increase, and she couldn't help but gasp in amazement as the giant machines drove over ramps, climbing into the air as if they weighed little more than the hypo-allergenic pillows stored in the closet next to her locker at the hospital.

He was smiling. Really smiling. Actually enjoying himself. Her mind flipped through a bevy of memories, of images, watching him over the brief time she had known him. Never did she remember seeing such a smile on his face, or the same sparkle in his eyes.

His eyes. That was what had made her stop the first time she had met him. So blue, so piercing, so intelligent – she'd never seen such eyes. They showed all his moods, when he was pensive, when he was impatient, when he was angry, when he was – well – when he wasn't angry? Was that the expression she saw presently? Excitement? Almost boyish joy?

She couldn't tell. She'd learned already to read his other moods, when he was teasing (which seemed to be a perpetual state with House) and when he was deadly serious. But she wasn't exactly sure how to read happiness in his face or if what she saw actually _was _happiness.

He tapped on her shoulder and pointed down on the main floor where a mechanic was climbing up inside one of the monster trucks to work on something. The man was probably six feet tall, but he climbed inside the giant truck with ease and disappeared like a flea in a dog's fur.

She watched him grin as he tapped the pass around her neck, and she nodded back. Maybe after the show they could go down and get a closer look at the huge vehicles.

When the show ended, he led her down the stands and onto the main arena floor, and for the next hour and a half he moved from truck to truck, excitedly commenting about anything and everything. She was genuinely fascinated by the monster trucks, having never seen one at all let alone up close, but what enthralled her most of all was watching Dr. House. The surly, sarcastic diagnostician, every intern's worst nightmare, almost like a caterpillar, had undergone some kind of metamorphosis and emerged a different being altogether. He buzzed happily around the floor, his limp suddenly not so obvious, as animated as a kid in a candy store.

On the way out, they stopped at a concession stand, and she bought two cotton candies. He hadn't brought much money with him, and since he had bought the tickets, she felt it was the least she could do.

_Besides_, she giggled to herself, _it's another way to convince Foreman that this isn't a date._

As they headed for the exit gate slowly, eating their cotton candy, she couldn't help but sigh in contentment. She had learned less this night about trucks and more about her boss.

"That was amazing!" she exclaimed as they approached the exit gates.

She felt his eyes on her and fought the temptation to blush. He looked at her all the time at work. It shouldn't be any different now.

"Gravedigger never fails to disappoint," he countered.

Something in his voice made her smile. Pride at his favorite monster truck? Pleasure that she had enjoyed herself? She couldn't tell.

She looked up as a couple passed them, sharing a drink and talking quietly about the show. She picked at her cotton candy, a sudden question forming in her mind.

_You wouldn't dare_, her mind sent a freezing chill of fear down her spine. _Just talk about the show. Don't get personal_.

But her mouth wasn't listening. The question came out anyway.

"Were you ever married?"

She hated herself the moment she asked it, risking a glance upward at him. His face shadowed by his green ball cap faltered for a moment as he limped beside her. When he answered, his tone was gentle but sad.

"Let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal."

She felt her heart squeeze.

_Stupid, Cameron. Stupid! Why can't you just mind your own business? _She bit her lip. _If he wants to tell you, he'll tell you. You don't need to go prying_—

"I lived with someone once."

She looked up at him, trying to mask the shock in her eyes.

_He lived with someone? I wonder—stop. Shut up. Don't talk. Just nod_. She smiled and nodded.

He nodded back, and they continued toward the exit.

"You gonna' finish that?" he gestured to her half-eaten cotton candy.

_Hm_, her mind clicked as she handed it to him, _he likes cotton candy_.

He took a big bite, and she grabbed it out of his hands and dashed through the gates. "I'll race you to the car!"

She had been teasing. It was just a joke. She hadn't expected him to actually do it.

"You're on!"

He started half-running, half-limping with extraordinary speed. She'd seen him do it before in the hospital when he was concentrating on getting somewhere fast. She laughed and chased after him, dashing through the parked cars to get to her little sedan.

It was surreal.

She slowed down purposefully to let him get ahead. She hadn't intended for them to race at all. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt his feelings by beating him.

It would have been close anyway, she realized, when she reached the car moments behind him. They leaned against the sedan, laughing.

Laughing?

She looked up at him. He was _really _laughing, a sound she had never heard from him before.

It was a nice sound.

As they quieted and caught their breaths, they watched the moon come out. She crossed her arms and glanced up at him again. The artificial lights in the parking lot high lighted his face.

She wouldn't have called him a handsome man. He had a weak chin, a big nose, and a high forehead. His hair was always messed up, and he had a perpetual stubble. But still, there was something alluring about him, something captivating about his unusual features.

She felt her face growing red, and she looked away. "This was fun," she commented.

"Yeah," he answered, his deep voice shaking every bone in her body.

"Thanks for asking me." She looked up at him yet again and smiled, her fingers clenching into a fist as he looked down at her, piercing straight through her with his steel blue eyes.

"Anytime."

She took a deep breath and tilted her head. _You're being presumptuous, Cameron_, her mind hissed. But she didn't listen. "I don't suppose—"

"—We could do it again sometime?"

Was that hope in his voice?

What did she say? What _should _she say? Her mouth had gone dry. Somehow, she managed a cocky smile, and her voice whispered, "Anything's possible."

The ride back to his apartment was quiet. She had the radio playing. It was some soft instrumental song. She didn't really recognize it, but it was soothing.

"I can't believe you'd never heard of monster trucks."

She giggled at his shock. "Me neither. I think I missed out big."

She felt his eyes on her again, probing, searching, trying to understand her. "I suppose you were into Barbie dolls like any other self-respecting girl."

She felt herself beginning to blush again. _Why did he have to ask that?_ She could still feel his gaze. _Say something._

"Actually—," she struggled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're blushing," his voice sounded mildly amused.

_Oh, no. He can see it?_

"That's not nothing," he prodded. "Unless you have some kind of skin condition I wasn't aware of, and in that case I can recommend a fungal cream that'll clear it right up." His eyes were sparkling intensely, having found another mystery to unravel.

She pursed her lips.

_Tell him. It's stupid, but tell him. He opened up to you. It's the least you can do for him_.

"I ran a clinic."

"Huh?"

Her blush increased.

"A clinic," she looked away from him. "I fixed all my friends' dolls that had been broken. Stitched up stuffed animals, glued Transformers back together. Stupid stuff, like that."

She waited for the sneer, some condescending comment intended to get a rise out of her. That's what he did all the time, after all. He was perpetually hounding the three members of his staff, almost as if they were some kind of science experiment in human behavior.

For a moment, her mind reverted to a moment in his office not too long ago, when she had asked him why he had hired her.

_He hired me because I'm pretty_, she remembered. _That's what he told me. Not for my grades, my internships, my credentials – for my looks_. At first it had completely enraged her. All the work she had done, all the classes she had taken, the crap she'd put up with for all her years at medical school – it was all meaningless. Until he finished what he was saying.

_"Beautiful women don't go to medical school."_

He was right. She had been given offers to model, to be an actress, a spokesperson – but all she'd ever wanted to do was help sick people get better. Ever since her husband had died.

"Practice, huh?" he broke into her thoughts.

"Yeah."

He _knew _she had worked hard to get where she was, and what was more important he _knew _she hadn't had to. But she had anyway.

So, she steeled herself, ready for whatever cruel remark he had in wait for her, knowing that whatever he said would only make her stronger in the end, that it would make her a better doctor.

"That's not stupid."

She stared at him in astonishment. "It's not?" She had been expecting some derisive comment, something bitter and biting and vindictive.

"No."

She couldn't stop a smile.

She pulled the car up to his apartment shortly thereafter, and he climbed out as gracefully as he could. "It wasn't a date, remember," he stuck his head back into the sedan.

"I remember," she grinned. "If it had been, you would have driven _and _paid for the cotton candy."

"I'll reimburse you. Promise."

"Don't mention it," she laughed.

House paused, leaning on the car roof and peering into the interior. Gosh, his eyes were beautiful.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, mainly to keep from thinking about his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered somewhat absently. "Tomorrow. And, Cameron?"

"Yeah?" she arched her eyebrows, wondering what he would ask next.

"You really liked it?" The tenor of his voice was skeptical.

_This is important to him_, her mind realized. _It's not just a monster truck show. It's part of his life, it's something that he likes to do, and he invited you to come with him._

"Yeah," she answered genuinely. "I really did."

He nodded and pushed away from the car. "Good night."

"Good night, Dr. House."

He shut the car door, and she accelerated away. She glanced in the rearview mirror, watching him limp up the stairs to his apartment door. He disappeared inside.

She turned the radio off and drove the rest of the way to her apartment in silence, thinking.

When she reached her one-bedroom flat, she flung herself down on her bed prostrate and fingered her quilt.

"I wonder if we'll do something again," she muttered. "Probably shouldn't get my hopes up."

She sat up and regarded herself in the mirror. "You probably bored him tonight. You and your inexperience with cars and trucks and oil and grease."

With a giggle, she slid off the bed and went to the kitchen. She made a sandwich with mustard and lean turkey on wheat bread. She looked up as she heard a loud car drive down her street.

She _had _enjoyed herself immensely, and she wouldn't hesitate to tell Chase and Foreman in the morning.

She jumped when the phone suddenly rang. She eyed it suspiciously and glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. No one should have been calling. She picked it up cautiously and nestled it against her ear as she poured a glass of water.

"Hello?"

"Do you like piano?"

She almost laughed out loud. "Dr. House?"

"Do you like piano?"

"Uh—"

"You _do _know what a piano is, right?"

"Of course, I know what a piano is."

"Do you like them?"

"Yes. Why? Is there a symphony coming to town?"

"Actually—"

"Is there really?"

He chuckled. "You want to go?" He couldn't mask the undertone of eagerness in his voice.

"When?"

"Next Friday?"

"Sounds great," she was blushing violently now. "But—"

"But what?" His voice took on a sudden anxiety.

"But," she fought against a giggle trapped in the back of her throat, "you're buying the cotton candy this time."


	3. Perspectives, Part Three: Dr Cameron

**Broken  
****House, M.D.  
****Amos Whirly**

**Perspectives --Part Three: Dr. Cameron**

Dr. Allison Cameron regarded herself in the mirror sharply, her eyes searching for anything out of place. She had washed and combed her hair until it shone in the incandescent lights of her small apartment, and she styled it on top of her head. A few auburn strands had come loose and fallen to frame her face. Her dress was simple, black and straight. The hem swished around her ankles, but the slit in the right side showed just the right amount of leg, a little below the thigh – not too much to be presumptuous but not too little to be prudish.

Her stomach was in knots. She was surprised she could stand up straight.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright. She was finding it hard to breathe as she stared at her reflected self.

It had been a lot time since she had dressed up like this.

But then, it had been a long time since she'd been to a symphony concert.

"All right," she spoke to the mirror, "just breathe. You'll be just fine." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

House was going to pick her up, or so he had said. Cameron hadn't thought that he could drive. That was why she had driven to the monster truck rally, under the pretense that her driving them made it less like a date and more like two friends going out for a good time.

"Friends," she murmured and stepped away from the mirror.

She hung up her discarded clothing and shut the closet door.

House was a puzzle to her, just as she knew that she was a puzzle to him. Cameron smiled slightly. There was a certain amount of pride that stemmed from knowing that she confounded one of the most brilliant doctors in the history of medicine.

She grabbed a small handbag off the top of her dresser and quickly filled it with her wallet, a tube of lipstick, a small cylinder of hand lotion, and a package of spearmint gum.

_How is he going to drive?_ she wondered to herself. _He can't drive._

She finished filling her purse and checked her teeth in the mirror, making sure no remnants from her late lunch salad remained.

When she had returned to work after the monster truck rally, Chase and Foreman had demanded a detailed synopsis of the experience. She giggled as she remembered the expression on Foreman's face when she had related the fun she'd had. Chase, honestly, had been more interested in the monster trucks than in Cameron's relationship with House. Foreman had probably just wanted something to hold over House's head.

At least Chase had a healthy respect for House. Foreman truly disliked him.

House had treated her no differently through the week as he had before he had asked her to go to the show with him. He was the same sarcastic, Vicodin-addicted, mean-spirited, truly-deep-down wonderful person he had always been. As Friday had approached, he had said nothing about the concert. He had remained so tight-lipped about it that Cameron had wondered if he had forgotten.

She had thought about asking him, but before she could, he had poked his head into the conference room where she had been scanning over a set of patient records. His beautiful eyes had sparkled at her. "You ready for tonight?"

She had nodded, unable to force her mouth to form words in the intensity of his steely blue gaze. He had nodded back and ducked out of the room.

She jumped as a fist pounded on the door. She gathered her things and answered it.


	4. Perspectives, Part Four: Dr House

**Broken  
House, M.D.  
Amos Whirly**

**Perspectives -- Part Two: Dr. House**

His stomach was in knots. He hadn't been this nervous since his first anatomy and physiology examination in high school.

_Am I actually going to do this?_ his mind whirled.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his dim apartment and straightened the tie around his neck.

_Look at you. You're wearing a suit._

The suit was black. He'd even had it pressed the day before, and it wasn't wrinkled. Same with the shirt. White and clean and crisp looking. The tie had been a gift from Wilson two Christmases ago – a navy blue affair with little syringes scattered over it randomly.

House didn't recognize himself in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair and decided to leave it alone. He thought about shaving and decided against it. Then, he struggled to get his high tops on.

They wouldn't go with the suit, but he really didn't care all that much. Hopefully Cameron wouldn't mind.

He grunted as he tied one shoe.

_Hopefully Cameron won't mind?_ he thought to himself. _Since when did I care what someone else thought? It doesn't matter what she thinks. It's not like this is a date or anything. She likes piano. I like piano. It's just two colleagues going to hear some Mozart. That's all._

He tied the other shoe, the one on his bad leg, with more difficulty and more grunts, and he downed a Vicodin. He looked at his reflection again and shook his head.

"You're crazy, Greg. Absolutely crazy."

He stuffed his wallet in his pocket and hurried outside, checking his watch. The car would be along shortly.

A few weeks earlier he had cleared up a sinus problem for the owner of a local limousine rental company. In gratitude, the man had offered a free evening. At the time, House had scoffed, not ever having any desire to ride in a limousine. After the monster truck rally the week previous, the free ride popped back into his mind.

As he waited at the bottom of his apartment stairs, he felt a sense of apprehension gnawing around the corners of his heart.

_She'll think it's too forward_, his mind was clicking away. _I'll just tell her it was free. It was. So there. She can just deal with that. And if she doesn't like it, that's fine._

He checked his watch again.

As he did so, a black limousine pulled up to the corner, and a man in a black butler uniform climbed out.

"Dr. Gregory House?" the man smiled and tipped his hat.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," House jerked the back door open and climbed in.

The driver frowned in surprise and hurried back to his seat. House rattled off Cameron's address and sat back in the seat, stowing his cane on the floorboard. He propped his bad leg on the seat across from him and leaned his head back.

_What are you doing, Greg? You can't do this. You can't get involved with her. You _work _with her._

He looked up as the limousine turned a corner.

_She's too young, too impressionable, and too nice. Impressionable. That's the key. She has an incredible future ahead of her. You'd drag her down. A person like Cameron would pour herself into someone she cared about. She'd sacrifice her career for them, her mind, her soul._

He closed his eyes.

_You can't do that to her._

The limousine continued down the street for a few minutes when it pulled up in front of Cameron's apartment.

"Two colleagues going to hear Mozart," he mumbled, opening his door, grabbing his cane, and hobbling up the stairs to her apartment. "Wait there!" he shouted at the limousine driver who'd climbed out and looked lost without someone to hold a door for.

House opened the door and stepped inside, limping to Cameron's door. He took a deep breath and knocked.


	5. Part Five: Interlude

**Broken  
House, M.D.  
Amos Whirly**

**Part Five: Interlude**

_He's wearing a suit_.

It was the only conscious thought running through her mind.

He had picked her up in a limousine. A limousine! He had brushed it off as a favor someone had owed him. Something silly he had always wanted to try, something wild and out of the ordinary.

She hadn't gushed. He wouldn't have appreciated that. But, a limousine! She'd always wanted to ride in one, had dreamed of a prom date doing just that and had been disappointed.

Who could ever have expected that Dr. House would have been the one to make that particular dream come true?

He looked handsome in a suit, in spite of his "hip-with-the-kids" high tops. The shoes had become a part of his personality. She could not have expected him to wear anything else.

When she had first met him, she had considered him more odd-looking than handsome. His forehead was high and heavily-lined, evidence of a lifetime of puzzling over diagnostics. His face was long, usually unshaven, and his wiry, muscular frame was slender and tall.

Odd-looking.

But his eyes?

She had never seen eyes like that before.

Crystal blue. Piercing. She could feel them from across a room, sharply penetrating her, picking her apart, curiously contemplating what made her tick. Just a single look could wipe every rational thought from her head and leave her tongue thick, her mind empty, and her heart hammering furiously against her lungs.

**(House, M.D.)**

He had no conscious thoughts the moment she came to the door. The dress, her hair, her eyes -- everything. It rendered him all but mute, quite a feat for someone like him. He managed a few gruff manly noises as he bustled her into the limo.

She didn't rave.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped, exclaiming that he shouldn't have – a comment he shrugged off by explaining the issue with the limo-man from the clinic.

She didn't mention it again.

He appreciated that.

Most other women would have prattled effusively. She merely giggled and spent most of the ride examining the crystal glasses in the small cabinet between the seats.

_I'm absolutely out of my mind_, he told himself. _What are you doing?_

"What's playing again?" her voice broke into his thoughts.

"Mozart, one of his piano concertos."

"Do you play?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just wondering."

"Yes."


	6. Part Six: Realization

**Broken  
House, M.D.  
Amos Whirly**

**Part Six: Realization**

She turned heads. House tried to ignore the long, lingering looks most of the men at the concert hall stole at Cameron as the two of them walked toward their seats.

Not that he blamed them at all.

But he certainly didn't like it.

After the first five idiots dropped their jaws and started drooling, he walked a little closer to her. After the number hit ten, he glared. Anyone foolish enough to level an appraising glance at Cameron got a look from House that could have melted steel.

They sat near the middle of the auditorium, and the concert started. The pianist was excellent. Even House would admit that. But as much as he tried, he could not keep his eyes on the piano.

His gaze kept moving to Cameron.

She didn't notice. Her eyes were glued to the stage, rapt attention focused solely on the Romanian performer.

_She's beautiful_, House thought to himself. _I've always known it. I knew it the day I hired her. Beautiful. _He smiled at the cliché running through his mind. _Inside and out._

He had never met a kinder person. At first, it had turned his stomach. She was just sucking up. She had to be.

No one was _that_ nice.

But as the months had passed, he came to the slow realization that Dr. Allison Cameron was just nice. Sweet. Compassionate. Humble. Gentle.

And she liked him. Enjoyed his company. Worried about him. Cared about him.

Liked him.

No one liked him.

Especially not some beautiful, intelligent doctor young enough to be his daughter. He had pegged Chase to be more of a match for Cameron than he was.

Maybe it was just pity or sympathy. Maybe that was why she hung around him. The old mothering instinct kicking in.

_Why?_

He wouldn't have minded her interest so much if he could have figured the reason why she cared. She was nice. She was compassionate. Yes. But no one was nice enough to like him just for the sake of liking him.

Were they?

It was impossible.

_Why?_

When he had done everything in his power to make her angry. Told her he hired her just for her looks. Ragged on her all the time. Made sexist comments in her presence. Humiliated her, mocked her, did whatever he could to make her job a living hell.

She took it all. Absorbed it almost and reveled in paying him back. Smiles for insults. Amusement for derision. She had even grown accustomed to the sexist comments and had started throwing them back at him.

What was wrong with her?

What was wrong with him?

Why was this bothering him? A puzzle he couldn't figure out? But, typically, puzzles he couldn't decipher got shuffled to the back of his mind. So why was Cameron at the forefront of his consciousness? Constantly?

He woke with her face on his mind. She was the last image he saw before he drifted into a restless slumber. And more often than not, she haunted his dreams with her sparkling eyes and brilliant smile.

_Why?_

The concert ended with a thunderous roar of applause. She stood, still clapping, her face awed. She turned to him and smiled again.

_You're encouraging it_, his mind whispered. _You're encouraging this – quasi-relationship. You've got to stop. It _has _to stop_.

He nodded back, face cold and emotionless. He watched some of the spark flow out of her eyes, but she said nothing.

The limo ride back to her apartment was uneventful and very quiet. At her apartment, she thanked him.

"Dr. House?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Cameron."

"You've been really quiet all night. Is something wrong?"

_Something wrong?__ Yes, there's something wrong. You like me, and I don't know why. You want to spend time with me, and I'm going to push you away like I've pushed everyone away. You want to get to know me, and—and I'm too bitter and mean to care._

"No, Cameron. Nothing's wrong."

She nodded. "Well, good night."

"Good night."

He watched her walk up the steps and disappear inside the building.

He knew.

He knew then.

Dr. House turned and limped back to the limousine, ignoring whatever comments the driver was spouting off.

This would not happen again.

It could not.


	7. Part Seven: Decision

**WARNING: I don't use profanity in any story that I write. However, since I am _quoting _from an episode, I'm enough of a purist to feel obligated to _quote correctly_. As a result, I had toleave a single bad word in the text of this story. There's only one, and it's in the fourth episode I quote from. So, if that bothers you, you've been warned. **

**

* * *

Broken  
****House, M.D.  
****Amos Whirly**

Part Seven: Decision

"Will you _stop_ it with the book?" he threw his head back and glared at her. Pivoting on his good leg, Dr. House whirled on the beautiful young doctor following him and gave her his best intimidating stare. "Why are you doing this?"

The innocent expression that crossed Cameron's face accentuated her eyes. "I'm not doing anything." She sounded almost perturbed.

_Not doing anything_, House thought to himself. _Whatever_. "You're manipulating everyone."

He watched her swallow, watched the subtle shift of her shoulders as she straightened. She always did that whenever she was getting ready to pitch a controversial diagnosis. But instead of remaining straight this time, she slumped slightly and would not look at his eyes.

Curious.

"People dismiss me," she said softly.

House narrowed his steely eyes.

"Because I'm a woman," she continued, still not looking at him. "Because I'm," she rolled her eyes, "pretty."

House felt his heart constrict slightly.

He'd told her that he'd only hired her because of her looks. Was that a slam?

"Because I'm not aggressive," she was still talking. Suddenly, her eyes pinned him down. "My opinions shouldn't be rejected just because people don't like me."

His heart gave a thud.

_Don't like her?_ his mind gave a laugh. _Where'd she get that?_

"They like you," he said. "Everyone likes you." _Now, be a good little duckling and bustle off to do your work. _He turned and started limping down the hall, but he could still feel her eyes, searing into his back.

_Surely, she wouldn't_, a sudden chill surged down his spine. He kept walking. _Cameron, don't ask me that._

"Do you?" her voice trembled.

He stopped short and took a deep breath as inconspicuously as he could. Slowly, he turned around to gaze at her.

Her face was full of hope. She just stood there with her fists clenched at her side, like some hapless orphan looking for someone to take care of her.

How many thoughts can pass through a man's mind in a few seconds?

In that moment, every poignant moment he had experienced with her, carefully stored in the vaults of his mind, came rushing to the forefront of his consciousness—

_She gaped at him in complete shock, her eyes full of horror and dread. Her expression said more than her mouth could have, but she spoke anyway. "You want me to ask a man whose wife is about to die if he's cheating on her?" _

_Why couldn't they understand? What was more important here? Propriety or a sick woman's life?_

_"No," he answered. "I want you to be polite and let her die."_

**(House, M.D.)**

_He slumped forward in the chair, clutching his cane with one hand and resting the other on his leg, the white tape around his broken fingers doing little to dull the pain – which was exactly what he wanted. The more he could focus on his hand, the less he could focus on his leg._

_Chase or Foreman was saying something – something about the sick kid. What was it? It all sounded garbled. He couldn't concentrate. _

_**Jules**, the only discernable word echoing in his mind. **Who is Jules?**_

_Her voice pierced through the pain-induced haze surrounding him._

_"Hallucinations are a symptom of psychosis which is the fourth diagnostic criteria," she said. "It's official. This is Lupus." Her voice held no trace of triumph. Just sadness._

_House shook his head and looked up. "Who's Jules? Did he mention her in the medical history?"_

_The look on Cameron's face switched from weariness to anger almost instantly._

_"It doesn't matter what he's hallucinating about. It matters why!" she nearly shouted. "It's Lupus."_

_"Well, there's no need to get snippy."_

_Her shoulders sloped downward as her head lifted, her eyes snapping with intensity._

_"This kind of Lupus takes years to get to this point," House continued, blinking in attempt to clear his fogged vision. "It's been a week._

_"Yeah," she scoffed, "and a 16-year-old kid shouldn't have hemolytic anemia or be bleeding out of every orifice, but he is." Her tone changed again, her eyes showing regret and remorse. "We had a chance to treat this. Instead we diddled around with Hepatitis E, and now it's too late. He needs a new liver." She bit her lip. "We screwed up."_

_House gazed up at her again. Her face was taut, her lips were pursed, and her eyes were full of fury. _

_"You're saying **I** screwed up," he corrected._

_He watched her straighten slightly. _

_"Yes."_

**(House, M.D.)**

_He could smell her hand lotion before he walked into the conference room adjoining his office. She was standing at the back desk going through papers of some sort or another. He limped to the book shelf beside it and set his book back into its place._

_"Foreman says we've got a problem with the transplant," she said._

_"Well," House answered with a grimace, "if she terminates the pregnancy, he's not going to let himself die on principle."_

_His ears twitched as she went silent, and he felt a lump forming in his throat as he sense the question she was about to ask._

_"Would you give up a baby for someone you love?"_

_He set another book down and turned partially to look at her. "Please tell me I don't have to decide."_

_She looked away from him and back to her papers. He watched her for a moment, studying the symmetry of her perfect face, the way her little nose tilted slightly, the intensity of her eyes. _

_"Depends," he turned away and looked through the books again. "How long would they live?"_

_"There's a pragmatic question for you."_

_"Fifty years?" House continued. "No problem. Six months? I say, let 'em die. I've actually given this a lot of thought, and my personal tipping point is seven years, eight months, and fourteen days."_

_"I couldn't do it."_

_He turned to look at her again, amused. "You've found religion."_

_She smiled. "Do you have to be religious to believe a fetus is a life?"_

**(House, M.D.)**

_She stood before him, her posture reflecting a sense of both anxiety and irritation, purposeful and severe. For the brief second she stood there, he could not help but admire the strength of her presence. Even as timid as she was, she still made everyone stop and listen, straining every muscle, tendon, and organ to hear or see her._

_Didn't she know that?_

_"Why did you hire me?" she asked succinctly. _

_"Does it matter?" he asked in deadpan._

_"Kind of hard to work for a guy who doesn't respect you."_

_"Why?"_

_Her brow furrowed, and she scowled darkly. "Is that rhetorical?"_

_"No, it just seems that way because you can't think of an answer," he smirked. "Does it make a difference what I think? I'm a jerk. The only thing that matters is what you think. Can you do the job?  
She sighed in frustration. "You hired a black guy because he had a juvenile record."_

_"No," House shook his head, looking scandalized. "It wasn't a racial thing. I didn't see a black guy." He shrugged. "I just saw a **doctor** with a juvenile record. I hired Chase because his dad made a phone call." He narrowed his eyes slightly. **Time to play with her head a little**. "And I hired you because you are extremely pretty."_

_He vowed, for as long as he lived, to never forget the horrified expression that crossed her features. _

_"You hired me to get into my pants?"_

_"I can't believe that that would shock you," he fought to keep a chuckle from surfacing. "It's also not what I said." He folded his hands on the desk. "No, I hired you because you look good. It's like having a nice piece of art in the lobby._

_She still looked outraged. "I was at the top of my class!"_

_"But not **the** top."_

_"I did an internship at the Mayo Clinic!"_

_"You were a very good applicant."_

_Her voice was incredulous, "But not the best."_

_"Would that upset you, really," he lowered his head, "to think that you were hired for some genetic gift of beauty instead of some genetic gift of intelligence?_

_He could sense her blood pressure rising, see the sparks in her eyes. "I worked very hard to get where I am!"_

_"You didn't have to," he pointed out. "People choose the paths that gain them the greatest rewards for the least amount of effort. That's a law of nature, and you defied it." He leaned back in his chair. "That's why I hired you. You could've married rich, you could've been a model, you could've just shown up and people would've given you stuff – lots of stuff – but you didn't." He focused an admiring gaze on her. "You worked your stunning little ass off."_

_"Am I supposed to be flattered?" she sounded disgusted. _

_"Gorgeous women do not go to medical school," House replied, "unless they are as damaged as they are beautiful."_

**(House, M.D.)**

_He felt like a teenager again. _

_Not an embittered, pill-popping, forty-something cripple with a medical degree and a penchant for making random nurses cry._

_"That was amazing!" Cameron exclaimed, picking at her cotton candy. Her tone was sincere. She wasn't playing him. She was serious. She had really enjoyed it._

_Interesting._

_"I'm telling you, Gravedigger never disappoints," he returned with a tenor of pride evident in his deep voice. _

_He limped beside her, pulling the last of his cotton candy off of its paper cone holder. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her gaze switch to a motorcycle rider couple in black leather and chains, sharing a drink and laughing together about something. _

_He felt the question coming before she asked it and grimaced inside._

_"Were you ever married?"_

_He answered, gruffly gentle and somewhat disappointed, "Let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal."_

_She looked away. He had managed to shut her out without being mean about it. Nice. But for some reason, it stung and made his chest constrict slightly._

_"I lived with someone once," he said aloud before he could stop himself._

_She didn't ask. She just nodded._

_Good girl._

_"You gonna' finish that?" he indicated her cotton candy, switching his empty paper cone to his other hand and limping awkwardly as he held out his hand._

_She flashed a smirk that lit up her eyes and pulled around piece off before handing the rest of it to him. He took a big bite, and she grinned and pulled it out of his hands. He grumbled out loud, and she laughed, dashing through the exit gates._

_"I'll race you to the car!" she giggled._

**(House, M.D.)**

_He looked up as the limousine turned a corner._

_**She's too young, too impressionable, and too nice. Impressionable. That's the key. She has an incredible future ahead of her. You'd drag her down. A person like Cameron would pour herself into someone she cared about. She'd sacrifice her career for them, her mind, her soul.**_

_He closed his eyes. _

_**You can't do that to her.**_

_She was beautiful that night. She was always beautiful, but that night in particular. Her eyes were shining. Her dress fit her curves with stunning precision. She listened to the orchestra play, her head swaying to the sound of the music._

_He knew._

_He knew then._

**(House, M.D.)**

His mind jerked roughly back into focus, though on the outside he only blinked awkwardly. She was still staring at him.

_Do I like her?_ he searched her open face. _You know what the answer really is, but you also know what it needs to be._

She stepped closer to him, her face so full of expectation that it made his stomach turn somersaults, knowing what he had to tell her, knowing what he _should _tell her.

"I have to know," her voice was soft, almost pleading.

_She has to know_, his mind whispered. _There's your answer. If you tell her you like her, she'll be happy. She'll focus on you. She'll get distracted. She'll start screwing up. You can't do that – not to her._

Her eyes pierced through him.

_She doesn't _need_ your approval. She doesn't _need_ your friendship. The moment she starts thinking she does, she'll crash and burn. You can't let on. You can't let her know. _

He took a deep breath and watched her eager face become even more hopeful. He steeled himself.

"No."

It came out cold. Not harsh. Not cruel. Just cold, toneless, emotionless.

Perfect.

He watched the hope melt from her face, watched her eyes dim, watched her try to smile as she whispered, "Okay," and turned to leave.

She moved down the hallway slowly and turned a corner. He closed his eyes and looked down, trying to ignore the sharp ache throbbing in his chest.

_She's too young_, he told himself. _She needs to figure out who she is without negotiating books, monster trucks, or—or you._

He limped back to his office and sat down, propping his leg up on the desk and leaning his head back.

_You're protecting her_, his mind reasoned. _She's here to learn, to work, to save people. _

He lifted his head and looked toward the window, eyeing his haggard reflection with no little amount of scorn.

"Hmph. Protecting _her_?" He grunted and shook his head and popped a Vicodin into his mouth, swallowing it dry. "I alienate people."

He leaned his head back again and closed his eyes, waiting for the latest report on the latest case to make its way down to his office.


	8. Part Eight: Leaving

**Broken  
****House, M.D.  
****Amos Whirly**

**Part Eight: Leaving**

I should have seen it coming. So why did it blindside me?

_I'm leaving. _

I just _stood _there. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't even shake her hand.

_I'm leaving._

I could hear the tears in her voice. I could feel the air quivering from the force of her trembling. I couldn't look.

I'm sure that's all she wanted. For me to look at her.

_I'm leaving_.

I wasn't strong enough. I stared at the floor as she poured out her heart. I can't even remember what all she said.

Something about me being rude and abrasive.

Not because I wanted to be that way.

But because it was right.

Something like that.

She wasn't making any sense.

Nothing made any sense.

Except those two words.

_I'm leaving_.

She can't leave. I fired Chase. Not her.

I haven't moved. I've been standing in my living room for—I don't even know how long it's been since she left. But I can't bear to move.

Moving meant accepting it. As long as I stood still, some part of me believed that I had imagined it. That if I held still, maybe it wouldn't come true.

_The world doesn't stop just because you want it to._

Her words came back to me.

I should have chased her down.

But I didn't.

I let her go.

_I'm leaving._

How many opportunities had I missed? To tell her what I _really _thought? Not just what _had _to be said, what _needed _to be said. But what I _wanted _to say?

**(House, M.D.)**

"Can we talk?" she asked, her voice nervous as her head peeked into his office.

"What?" he glared at her. "No flowers? No chocolates? If you're coming to apologize—?"

"I'm not here to apologize." She stood in front of him, bold and beautiful, her eyes determined and full of confidence.

"Uh-oh," he grumbled, backing up in his chair. "Then it must be for something more complicated," he quipped as he popped a Vicodin in his mouth.

"Do you want to fire me?"

_Here we go, _he thought. "Yes," he dropped the pill bottle in his coat pocket. "I was just waiting for an excuse. Thank God, Vogler came along! Whew!"

"Because that's the only reason I can think of for why you're insisting that I made a mistake."

He regarded her with a patiently exasperated expression as he stood and approached her. "There is another explanation," he leaned on his cane. "Perhaps not as much fun as your Freudian analysis. Maybe you actually _made _a mistake."

"You're doing this because you can't deal with your feelings for me."

His heart leaped into his throat, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

"I believe you were the only one to express feelings," he said quietly, looking around as if afraid someone would hear him. "And if we're going to look at this from a first year psych point of view, maybe you _want _me to fire you. Maybe that's why you're acting so weird—"

"You're the one being different," she countered, her eyes disgruntled. "You're always pushing things. Pushing the rules. Pushing us. But not this time. You jumped onto this like a life raft. No riding us for answers."

"I have the answer," he gestured to his television.

"Then why aren't you watching TV?" she set her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Or playing your damn Gameboy? Or whatever is it you have so much fun doing by yourself?"

He fell silent, not wanting to look her in her eyes.

"Maybe I should just quit. Make it easy on everyone."

"Maybe you should."

**(House, M.D.)**

_I'm leaving_.

She can't.

_I'm leaving_.

She wouldn't.

_Goodbye, House_.

The door shut. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something, kick something.

He moved.

His good leg carried most of the weight, and he leaned against the back of his front door, his forehead falling against the cool wood. His cane clattered as it hit the floor.

_Goodbye_.

Her breathy whisper filled his ears.

_I'm leaving_.

The room was spinning.

She was leaving.

He had chased her off.

He had forced her away.

As he sagged against the door, part of him wanted to blame Vogler. Part of him wanted to blame Cuddy. To blame Chase. To blame Foreman. Wilson, Stacy, his mother, his father.

Cameron.

No.

It was him. It was his fault. He had hired her, had baited her, had pushed her away. He had angered Vogler, screwed up the speech on purpose.

He squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hands against the door.

"Goodbye, Cameron."


	9. Part Nine: Gone

A/N: First attempt at a songfic. Probably stinks. You've been warned.

_(Lyrics: "Broken" by Seether)_

* * *

**Broken  
****House, M.D.  
****Amos Whirly**

**Part Nine: Gone**

House sat in his office chair, glaring absently at nothing. His computer screen flashed as the screen saver kicked on, but he ignored it.

How long had he been sitting there?

It didn't matter.

He was vaguely aware as the shifts changed. New, fresh nurses traded places with the exhausted ones who'd been there since the evening before.

He watched the clock arms. It was 7:15.

She always came in at 7:30.

Not today.

_I wanted you to know  
__I love the way you laugh_

He barely noticed when Chase and Foreman came into the conference room, talking quietly. House wondered if they knew.

He tried to force down the hate and anger that boiled up in his chest when his gaze hesitated on Chase.

Chase.

It should have been Chase.

Not Cameron.

Stupid Chase.

Stupid Vogler.

Cameron.

_I want to hold you high  
__And steal your pain away_

Foreman stuck his head in and said something. House ignored him. From the corner of his eye, House saw Foreman shake his head and duck back into the conference room.

Good.

No questions.

Nothing to bother him.

He wanted to be alone.

_I keep your photograph  
__I know it serves me well_

He opened the folder on his desk. Inside, in the upper right corner, was a wallet-size photograph of Cameron. It was a typical official photograph, strictly for filing purposes. Bland. Dull. Plain. It would have been. But Cameron couldn't take a bland picture.

She was too beautiful.

Her eyes were too blue.

Her hair was too soft.

Her face was too perfect.

Her boring file photograph could rival any glamour shot.

It made his heart ache.

_I want to hold you high  
__And steal your pain_

Who was going to do his mail?

Who was going to smile at him? Even when he'd been rude and unkind and cruel to her, she had still managed to smile at him. Somehow. He didn't know how she did it.

No one else was going to smile at him.

Now, he wasn't sure that he _wanted _anyone else to.

_Because I'm broken  
__When I'm lonesome  
__And I don't feel right  
__When you're gone away_

He leaned his head back in his office chair and closed his eyes. He could hear Cuddy's heels pounding on the tile floor, the sound muting as she stepped onto his office carpet and walked to the side of his desk.

_You've gone away_

Cuddy dropped a case file on his desk and turned. She exited silently.

Now wasn't the day to talk to him.

_You don't feel me here  
__Anymore_

She slammed her suitcase shut, making sure that her shirts and blouse sleeves didn't get caught. She stood the suitcase up by the door and quickly packed a small case of toiletries. Glasses cleaner, lip gloss, sunscreen, face cream.

Just the essentials.

She had called a childhood friend, who lived in Kansas.

Kansas. Who would have ever thought she'd go _there_ for a vacation?

_The worst is over now  
__And we can breathe again_

As she zipped up the case, she tried not to think about the previous evening. She'd gone to House. She'd told him she was leaving.

And in so many words, she'd told him why.

_To protect myself_.

She set the smaller case on top of the suitcase.

_It's the only think I can control_.

She shut the bathroom light off.

Her flight left in three hours.

_I want to hold you high  
__You steal my pain away_

She hesitated by the desk in her living area, where she had thrown her lab coat, her ID badge, and her canvas PPTH bag. Her eyes lingered on a photograph sitting on top of the desk.

Chase had been screwing around with her new digital camera a few months ago and had accidentally taken a picture of House. He was sitting back in his chair, his cane lying across the front of the conference table, his right leg propped up on the tabletop as per usual.

His forehead wrinkled.

His mouth half turned down in a scowl, half turned up in a smirk.

His blue eyes intense.

_There's so much left to learn  
__And no one left to fight  
__I want to hold you high  
__And steal your pain_

She had found it on the camera a few days later and had not had the heart to delete it. Instead, she had printed it out and placed it where she could see it.

Now, she bit her lip.

The blue eyes in the photograph seemed to burn through her, stripping her of all her defenses, leaving her soul bare to his piercing gaze.

_Because I'm broken  
__When I'm open  
__And I don't feel like  
__I am strong enough_

She reached out and turned the picture on its face. Then, she gathered her bags and hurried out her front door.

_Because I'm broken  
__When I'm lonesome  
__And I don't feel right  
__When you're gone away_

He finished his clinic duties quickly and silently. He didn't talk to Cuddy. He didn't talk to Foreman or Chase. He was glad that no case had come in that was too complex for him to figure out on his own.

He didn't feel like talking.

Wilson came in at one point and had eventually taken the hint.

When 5:00 rolled around, House picked up his things and started for the elevator, avoiding contact with anyone.

He stepped into the elevator.

The doors closed.

_'Cause I'm broken  
__When I'm open  
__And I don't feel like  
__I am strong enough_

Cameron settled into the stiff airplane chair and closed her eyes. The pilot was talking, saying something. She didn't care. She just wanted to sleep. To get away.

She pulled her pillow out of the overhead compartment and snuggled into it.

A part of her wished her arms were around a real person instead of a pillow.

A real person with graying brown hair and crystal eyes that left her knees weak and her breathing shallow.

_Because I'm broken  
__When I'm lonesome  
__And I don't feel right  
__When you're gone away_

He didn't know when it started raining.

It was pouring when the cab pulled up to the sports field. House paid the fee and ignored the confused look the cabbie gave him when he stepped out onto the field in the rain and hobbled toward the stands.

_Because I'm broken  
__When I'm lonesome  
__And I don't feel right  
__When you're gone_

He sat in the bleachers on the first row and rested his cane beside him.

He hung his head and let the cold rain stream down his face.

It felt like tears.

_You've gone away  
__You don't feel me here  
__Anymore_


	10. Part Ten: The Return

Ta-Da! Amos Whirly has returned! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! I'm so happy to be back, and I will hopefully be doing more writing now! Hooray!

* * *

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Ten: The Return**

Cameron bent over and tied on her tennis shoes before she stepped onto her treadmill and turned it on. She started running, her long brown ponytail jogging behind her. She closed her eyes and ran, her thoughts drifting to her fast, distracting trip to the Midwest.

Kansas was a nice state, and surprisingly Wichita (the state's largest city) had most of the conveniences of the East Coast, though with a populace who were far more friendly. It was a big city with a down-home feel.

She had arrived in Wichita, met her friend Jeannie Kellogg, and stayed a few nights, never really revealing why she had come for a visit. Jeannie, an old college buddy who had chosen motherhood as her career instead of medicine, had been happy to see her and even happier to offer food, board, and long talks about relationships (carefully hidden in a guise of impartiality).

Cameron smiled as she jogged on the treadmill. Jeannie had always been her friend and confidant, the one she could run to with her troubles. They had been roommates in their sophomore year of college and had forged a friendship that had lasted for many years.

_(House M.D.)_

The meal was huge and filling and made Cameron feel like she was sitting at home with her family again. Jeannie's husband, Frank, was a cordial man with a booming laugh. Part of Cameron was shocked to discover that he was a businessman who worked downtown. She sheepishly realized she had assumed all men in Kansas were farmers.

"I have to admit, Allison," Jeannie said as she gathered up the dishes after they had finished eating, "it was kind of a surprise to hear from you. Up until now, we'd just been getting cards and emails from you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you again." Cameron busied herself with helping Jeannie clean up the table. Afterward, she watched Jeannie's two sons and her husband wrestling in the living room.

Jeannie smiled and stood beside her. "So who is it?"

"Who's what?"

"Come on, Allison," Jeannie said. "You've never been able to fool me. You didn't come to see me. You didn't come to see the boys." Jeannie set her hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Allison, the last time you came to see me was just after your husband died. The only reason you'd be here now—"

"Maybe I just wanted to see you, Jeannie."

"You can't lie for beans, Allison. Who is it?"

_(House M.D.)_

Cameron shook her head as she jogged. She had broken, right there in Jeannie's kitchen, told her the whole story, spilled out her soul. Jeannie had listened, compassionately patting her shoulder and afterward had offered a cup of warm milk, which Cameron had accepted without question.

They didn't speak of it again.

Three days later when Cameron was at the airport going back to New Jersey, Jeannie had hugged her. "Allison," she had said, "running away isn't going to help anything. It won't help you. And it surely won't help him."

Cameron stopped jogging and turned off the treadmill, dabbing at her forehead with her towel.

"It won't help me, and it won't help him," she mumbled. "So why do I want to help him?" She leaned her head back. "Because I'm a doctor. I help people. That's why I do this." She frowned. "But I don't have to help _him_. He doesn't want help."

She dug a bottle of cold water out of her refrigerator and drank it.

"But I _want _to help him," she whispered in the silence of her little apartment kitchen.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

_I thought we were friends at least. After the monster trucks. After the concert._ She hung her head. _And then I find out that he doesn't even like me._ She smiled sardonically to herself. "That shouldn't matter at all. He doesn't like anyone." _You just hoped you'd be different._

Cameron froze as something loud and solid banged against her apartment door. She jumped up and listened. Bang, bang, bang! It sounded like wood against the door.

_House!_

She set her water bottle down, unconsciously checked her appearance in the mirror, and walked to the door. She tried her best not to look mortified-horrified-terrified to see him standing at her door, blue eyes piercing through her like so many daggers.

She could barely contain the excitement that swept through her. Vogler was gone. House could have his full team back.

"Things can go back to the way they were," House said, his gaze not leaving her face.

Cameron stifled the thrill that surged through her at the sound of his voice. Deep bass timbre that shook her to the core. "The way they were was kind of weird." She managed to speak.

"Weird works for me."

She searched his face. "What are you saying?"

She watched the lines in his face, a slight twitch in his eye. He was about to say something he hadn't planned on saying. She could tell.

"I want you to come back."

Again, it took all her strength to keep from shouting, to keep from rejoicing, to keep from throwing her arms around him and holding him.

He wanted her to come back to work at PPTH.

_Stop, Cameron_, she told herself. _Think about this. This is House. Your boss, House. He doesn't _know_ what he wants._ She narrowed her eyes and looked closer at his face.

"Why?" She asked it before she knew she had spoken.

And his pager went off. Something about an epidemic. He said something. She said something. But she wasn't thinking about it.

_He wants you to come back. You want to go back. But things will be just the same as they were, with neither of us knowing what to do with each other. _She took a deep breath. _You have to make a choice here. You can run back to him and the way things were. Or you can stand your ground and make him run for once._

"Why do you want me back?"

House glared at her. "Because you're a good doctor?"

She took a deep breath again. "That's it?"

House frowned. "That's not enough."

Her heart thudded dully in her chest, and she hoped she wasn't making a mistake. "Not for me." She closed the door on him.

She spent the next few days in agony, hating herself. He had come to her, asked her to come back (which for Greg House was a tremendous feat in that he even acknowledged being dependant on another person), and she slammed the door in his face.

_He won't come back again. I had my shot, and I blew it_.

She received a single phone call during one of those days, a call from Dr. Yule at Jefferson Hospital, informing her that she had been accepted for the immunologist position she had applied for.

She had just hung up with him when someone knocked on her door again. It wasn't a fist knocking. It was that same wooden pounding.

_He came back again?_ her mind was awhirl. _Why? _

She opened her door and looked out at him. He looked tired and weary, more so than usual.

"I don't want to interview anyone else."

She scowled through her joy. "You're interviewing? I thought you'd just have them send a headshot along with their CV."

She would have sworn she saw a sparkle of laughter in his azure eyes. "Hah. That's good. And that's why I need you around."

She frowned.

"To keep me in my place."

She noted with slight amusement that he was trying to look inside her apartment. She didn't move out of the doorway, though. "I can't come back. I told you that."

"Wasn't listening."

"Right."

He looked down at her. "You want me to listen to you more? I can do that."

She sighed. "Right. I already accepted a position somewhere else."

His face turned dark. "With who?"

Cameron bit her lip. "Yule, at Jefferson."

Again, his eyes flashed. "Unaccept it."

She stood her ground. "Why?"

Finally, his arrogant tone faded into something else, something Cameron wasn't quite sure she could identify.

"Because Yule is boring," he said, his deep voice carefully hiding the pleading he couldn't conceal in his eyes. "He's pedantic and preachy. Because he's short." He shifted slightly. "Because I want you to come back."

She was melting. His eyes were consuming her. But she steeled herself. "Not good enough."

His eyes flared angrily. "You want more money? A car allowance? A better parking space?"

_This is it. Do it. Do it now!_ She lifted her little chin. "Dinner."

His expression betrayed the shock he was feeling, although he covered it up quickly.

"And not just a meal between two colleagues," she kept talking. "A date."

He looked confused. "You'll come back to work if I go out on a date with you?"

Cameron smiled. "Yes."

House tilted his head slightly. "Okay. It's a deal."

Cameron was certain she almost saw him smile, but she stared as he held out his hand. She felt giddy as she took his hand and shook it.


	11. Part Eleven: Damaged

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Eleven: Damaged**

It was a date. A real date with House. Cameron found herself wondering if all the dates he had ever gone on had turned out like this one had.

She had tried walking into the situation without any illusions, without any preconceived notions. House, as usual, threw her for a loop.

He brought her a corsage. He complimented her earrings. He complimented her shoes. He was obviously terrified.

The small talk didn't last long. She had known it wouldn't. House didn't like conversations that didn't mean anything.

So she got right to the point. "I want to know how you feel about me."

The expression on his face didn't really change, although his eyes did soften slightly. And Cameron braced for the worst, expecting scathing insults and demeaning physical remarks designed to hurt.

She didn't expect his voice to be so soft. And she didn't expect the self-deprecation she heard.

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect," he said. "That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer." His eyes bore into her. "You don't love. You need."

She felt tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to give in to them.

"And now that your husband is dead," House was still talking, "you're looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me."

She fought the urge to argue with him.

"I'm twice your age. I'm not great looking. I'm not charming. I'm not even nice." He looked hard at her. "What I am is what you need. I'm damaged." He raised his menu and did not speak again.

She sat in her chair, feeling the world spinning. They ordered. They ate. He took her home. She said thank you and told him she would see him the next day.

Late that evening, she sat quietly on her sofa thinking over what he had said and how he had said it.

_He thinks he's old, ugly, and mean_, she thought. _So he is. He hates himself. And he thinks I want to fix him._

She looked up at her reflection in the mirror across the room.

_Maybe he's right._ She straightened. _All this time, have I been trying to change him? Have I been trying to make him into something he's not?_

A gentle smile curled up her face.

_I have feelings for him. I won't deny that. But forcing my feelings on him won't help anyone, just like running away doesn't help anyone._

She sat back against the couch.

_He knows how I feel. Now, I know how he feels. So, now, we'll see what happens. _

* * *

A/N: All right. So if you haven't figured this out by now . . . . I'm a little behind with the series. But I'm working on catching up. This is probably going to bea WIP for quite some time, semi-closely following the storyline of the show. I'm hoping to be able to get into their heads and expound on some of their reactions and facial expressions that I've noticed. 


	12. Part Twelve: Wondering

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Twelve: Wondering**

Word around the office was that he asked her out, though whether it was to the café around the corner or to the darkest depths of Africa, House wasn't sure.

He managed to keep a calm face when she was around, and even more impressive he managed to stifle the urge to ask what her answer had been.

She didn't know that he knew, and he wasn't going to tell her. He wasn't going to tell her that he watched her interactions with Sebastian Charles critically. He wasn't going to tell her how the secret side of him burned with furious jealousy when he saw the expression in the pompous doctor's eyes as she walked into a room. And he sure wasn't going to tell her that he hated Charles so very much because Cameron didn't seem to mind him.

Sebastian Charles was a pompous know-it-all who knew nothing of real value. He also happened to be charismatic, passionate, and extremely handsome. And his mission—to save the poor and dying of Africa—obviously appealed to Cameron, sensitive heart and all.

It made House sick.

House sat in his office, twirling his cane like a baton, glaring at the wall. Charles's image stared back at him from his television screen. It was some speech he had given a few years earlier, demanding treatment for the tuberculosis epidemic in Africa.

_He's a hypocrite. If Cameron can't see that, she's not as bright as I thought she was._

Dr. Sebastian Charles, in his fancy suit and his nice car, driving around and demanding medicine for the suffering children of Africa. Flashing his heart-wrenching pictures. Telling his tear-jerking stories of separation by death and war.

Yeah. It was an awful situation. But House stood by his original opinion of the man—you couldn't demand to be treated like an African patient and call a press conference.

Press conference. Journalists and news anchors. Cameron had been there. Cuddy was there too, but Cuddy had status to maintain. Cameron didn't need to be there. Standing by Charles's bedside, looking concerned over him. Not that that was any different from normal. Cameron looked concerned over everyone.

But for some reason, Cameron's concern for Sebastian Charles truly irked him.

House looked up and watched Cameron walk quickly past his glass door. She didn't notice him. Or if she did, she didn't let on that she had.

_She's different_, he thought, watching how she moved. _She's more confident. Or something_.

His mind drifted to the candid (and mostly one-sided) conversation they'd had on their date. He had been cruel. He realized that. But it needed to be said. Cameron had to realize that what she wanted was impossible.

_She's the type of person who'll hang all their hopes and dreams on someone. And that someone will eventually let her down. Because that's the way life is. Because life sucks._ He watched her walk past the door again. _Maybe she's just attracted to pompous jerks. I'm one, but at least I know it. Sebastian doesn't have a clue._

His mind shifted to another conversation they'd had in his office, only a few weeks earlier. Cindy, the cancer patient. Cameron's patient. The patient Cameron was desperately trying to protect, to convince her that she didn't have cancer despite what all the evidence clearly said.

Cameron had stood in his office, eyes blazing, demanding her tests – tests he didn't want to give her permission to run. "I'm over you," she had said angrily. "I've jumped on the bandwagon. I hate you, okay?"

In the end, he had relented. He let her run her tests. He let her show herself how foolishly she was behaving.

He couldn't get the phrase out of his mind, though. "I'm over you. I've jumped on the bandwagon. I hate you, okay?"

From the tone of her voice at the time, he knew she had not been serious. She didn't hate him. House seriously doubted that Cameron could hate anyone. But now—

Now that this dashing, handsome doctor whose life's purpose was to cure the hurting and help the needy had entered her life, who was to say that she wouldn't jump at the opportunity? Who was to say she wouldn't give up on her dysfunctional life at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and go save the world?

He knew he shouldn't care. And he spent the next ten fruitless minutes trying to convince himself that he didn't.

There had been two non-dates and one actual date. It took the two non-dates to make him realize how incredible she was—and how much she needed to not have a relationship with him.

He was old. He was bitter. He was crippled. He would only drag her down. So he had forced her away. Just like Stacy. Just like everyone else who had ever tried to care about him.

It was better that way.

That way he didn't have to depend on anyone else. And no one had to depend on him.

_So why does it bother me? _He glanced into the conference room where Cameron had begun poring over a medical journal. _Why do I care what she does? I told her no. I've got her believing that I don't even like her. So why do I give a flip where she goes?_

She moved her head before he could react, and she paused, finding his eyes on her. They stared at each other for a moment before she went back to reading. House didn't move. He stayed in his chair, feeling slightly drained.

Cameron wasn't naïve, but she wasn't difficult to read.

She wasn't going with Sebastian. She wasn't leaving PPTH. She wasn't leaving him. It had been in her eyes, plain and forceful.

She wasn't leaving again.

Part of him relaxed. Part of him recoiled. And some small part of him wanted to smile.

So he did. He just didn't let her see it.


	13. Part Thirteen: Wondering Again

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Thirteen: Wondering Again**

It was one of the most uncomfortable dinners in all of his recent memories, not that dinners with his parents had ever been comfortable. Even his disastrous date with Cameron had been less stressful.

The elder Houses had been married for 47 years, and though they were both proud of their only son, neither was very certain how to show it.

John House, a tough former Marine pilot, was hard-nosed, loud-mouthed, and every other negatively associated anatomical quality.

Blythe House, however, was jovial, round, and constantly smiling. The only thing bigger than her heart was her hair. And, despite what she said, Blythe House was just like every other loving mother in the world—she wanted her son to be happy, and she wanted to be a grandmother before she died. Which was most likely why she had asked Cameron to eat with them.

The moment Blythe asked, House knew he was in trouble. Cameron. She had always poked, pried, and demanded to know more about him. Not that he really minded. After all, he always did that to her. It was only fair. But somehow throwing his parents into the mix bothered him. He didn't want them getting to know her. And he didn't want her getting to know them.

She refused.

"You don't have a lot of time with your son," Cameron had said with a gentle smile. "Maybe another time."

And she was gone.

He knew she was curious. He could see it in her face. In her eyes. In her stance. So why didn't she come? She had every opportunity to pump his parents for information about him. So why didn't she?

After the unbearable dinner, he had fallen into his armchair, trying to get rid of the headache pounding behind his eyes. Seeing his father always made his head hurt.

He looked up when Cameron entered the room, her face and eyes sad. "The father and the friend are responding well to the treatment. Things aren't looking so good for Carnell."

He wasn't paying attention to the lying college student at the moment. All he could see was the light from the hallway illuminating the loose strands of brunette hair flowing around her soft, perfect face.

"Thank you."

Her confused face indicated that he had actually spoken out loud.

He grimaced inside and clarified, "For not eating."

She smiled. "It was none of my business."

_She wants to know more_, he thought as he watched the light in her eyes. _She's curious. If it were you talking to her in this situation, what would you have done? You would have badgered her until she spilled her guts._

He was talking before he realized it. "They seem perfectly pleasant don't they?"

She tilted her head and leaned against the doorjamb, indicating her interest.

"They are," he kept talking, to his surprise. "He was a marine pilot. She was a housewife. Married 47 years. They had one child."

She smiled again.

"Mom was just like everyone else, nice enough, great sense of humor, hates confrontation. My dad's just like you."

Her eyes flashed with confusion.

House shook his head. "Not the caring till your eyes pop out part."

She smiled once more and even chuckled a little.

"Just the insane moral compass that won't let you lie to anybody about anything," House leaned his head back in his chair and sighed. "It's a great quality for boy scouts and police witnesses. Crappy quality for a dad."

She didn't speak. She only nodded and backed out of the office, eyes gentle. And House was surprised that he didn't feel weak for telling her.


	14. Part Fourteen: Mistake

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Fourteen: Mistake**

She'd been embarrassed before. Misspelling words at spelling bees. Getting a less-than-satisfactory grade on a math test. Dissecting her high school lab partner's fetal pig with the wrong scalpel.

Nothing like this.

This went beyond embarrassment, beyond mortification. It was shame. Humiliation.

She had slept with Chase.

She had gotten high on her patient's drugs and slept with Chase.

Kalvin, PPTH's new diagnostic mystery, had convinced her that being good all the time only added to an already-miserable life. And she had believed him.

Of course, she had been distressed at the time, seeing that earlier that day Kalvin had coughed infected blood into her face and now she was at risk for contracting HIV.

But it was no excuse.

"You know, I hope you don't have it," Kalvin had said, "but getting HIV might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. I used to be a good boy. Never wanted to piss anybody off. Playing by the rules makes everyone else happy. Now, I'm happy."

She had smiled at him. Actually smiled. Actually considered what he was talking about. She took his drugs, disposed of most of them, but kept just enough to for her own use. She used them. She got high.

And of course that had to be the moment that Chase stopped by to check on her.

All she really remembered was seeing him come into her apartment. The rest was a blur of skin and color. He left as soon as it was over, probably as embarrassed as she was.

She had spent the early morning huddled in the corner, hating herself and desperately trying to think of a way to take the edge off the methamphetamines she had taken. There wasn't anything to do. So she had dressed, put a hat on, and gone into work.

House, as usual, with his amazing powers of deduction, had figured out exactly what had happened.

Near the end of the case, she was able to look at Kalvin again, though not without feeling some stab of anger toward him. After all, if he hadn't deluded her into thinking that drugs were her ticket to freedom, she wouldn't have tried them anyway.

_But if you had thought about it instead of just jumping into it—_

She closed her eyes and forced back the angry tears that threatened to fall.

_Stupid. You were supposed to be making yourself stronger. You were supposed to be working toward being a better doctor. Now, you're just like Kalvin. _

She could feel House's eyes on her.

_What does he think of you now? You slept with Chase. You _slept _with him. _She glanced toward House, who had turned his attention to something else. _Why couldn't it have been House who came to check on me?_ She frowned the moment she thought it. _No. I'm glad it wasn't House. If it had been House, it wouldn't have happened. Chase should have stopped me. He should have. He knew I was high, and he went along with it anyway. House would have stopped me. House wouldn't have let it happen. Of course, House wouldn't have come to check on me anyway._

She watched his blue eyes as they focused intently on the whiteboard.

_If anything ever happens between House and me_, she thought to herself, _I want to remember it._

That evening as she checked on Kalvin she couldn't stop the anger that welled up inside her. She had been doing well enough in containing it, until he started talking to her. And it all came out.

"You haven't had a single visitor except for your dad," she snapped at him. "Drugs are great. HIV freed you. Your dad hates you. You're so happy. Everything's a lie!"

She felt tears pricking her eyes.

"You're not trying to have fun. You're trying to self-destruct. You want to kill yourself? Fine." She turned away. "But stop recruiting."

She escaped as quickly as she could and fled to the locker room. She was the only one there, and she sat down on the bench. She let the tears out.

Tears of anger, shame, disappointment. She cried. She cried like she hadn't cried in years, since her husband had died. And when she was done, she admitted to herself that she felt slightly better.

_It was a mistake. It won't happen again. _

She straightened on the bench.

_I don't need drugs. I don't need sex. I don't need anyone or anything. _She looked at her reflection in the tile floor. _I don't have HIV. I don't need House's approval. I don't need House for anything. I'm just fine alone._

A single tear fell down her face and splashed on the tile. She gasped slightly as a realization swept over her.

_You're more like Kalvin than you realized, Cameron. You're just as alone as he is._


	15. Part Fifteen: Alone

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Fifteen: Alone**

I want her to check.

I want her to find out. It's important.

That's why I did it.

We were in the middle of a differential diagnosis on the twitching woman. Cameron hadn't done her HIV test yet. I knew she hadn't. She was ignoring it.

That's why.

I was on my feet. "So ultrasound her uterus this time. See if there's something growing in there that doesn't look adorable in a onesie." She walked past me. The timing was perfect. "Cameron."

She turned back to look at me. As usual, I spent half a second admiring her flawless face before I spoke.

_This is going to kill her_, I thought. _But it has to be done. _

"I love you."

Her eyes nearly bulged, and her jaw dropped. Perfect. I swabbed the inside of her cheek, handed her the swab and smirked. "Get your test results tomorrow."

She stood in place for a moment, obviously bewildered, and left the office.

The day progressed similarly to every other day spent at PPTH. Diagnosis after diagnosis, differential after differential, argument after argument.

That night, at home, I sat drinking a small glass of scotch and thinking about Cameron.

_Just because she thinks she won't have it doesn't mean she actually doesn't_, I thought to myself.

I sipped my drink.

_What if she does have it? What will that mean?_

I frowned.

_Will she crash? Will she lose it? Is that going to be the end?_ I took another sip of scotch. _I don't think so. I hope not. _He sighed enormously. _Again. Back to caring about Cameron. Why?_

I set my glass down.

_What do you mean, why? She might have HIV. That's reason enough to care._

I glanced at the clock.

_But it's three o'clock in the morning. Why are you sitting up at night thinking about Cameron?_

I stood up and moved to the piano, softly playing some random tune that came to mind. _You care, _my mind said. _That's why you won't have anything to do with her. You're trying to protect her. That's what you decided all those months ago, isn't it? It's for her own good._

I scowled as I played a bad note.

_So what happens if she contracts HIV? _I rolled my eyes. _The same thing that happens to everyone else. She'll keep on living. _He looked into the mirror. _She just won't be the same. _I let my hands rest on the keys. _Nothing will be the same._

The thought of Cameron not being Cameron-ish any more made me clench inside, made me hate Kalvin for possibly infecting her, made me hate myself for admitting the HIV-positive man in the first place.

Cameron was the epitome of kindness, of niceness, of goodness. Innocence and sweetness and everything good rolled up in a beautiful package that smelled of anesthetic and flowery hand lotion and citrus shampoo.

Had Kalvin ruined that?

Had _I _ruined that? Because ultimately it was me who had sent her to work on Kalvin, and although I could never have expected it to turn out the way it had, I was still responsible on some level.

I stood up again and poured another glass of scotch.

The other question in my mind stemmed from the drugs and from her unexpected escapade with Chase.

I didn't have a problem with her doing drugs. After all, I do drugs all the time. Of course, it wasn't meth. My drugs take the form of Vicodin and morphine. As long as it doesn't interfere with her work, I don't care.

What upset him the most was Chase's reaction to Cameron's condition.

Chase had been superficially concerned about her contracting HIV. He had pretended to be worried and everything. I heard the rumors about him asking her out for a drink, offering to check up on her. Obviously, Chase had followed through with that last part.

I'mfairly certain I know how it happened.

Chase had come to check on her. Cameron, high and needy, had offered. Chase had agreed. Anything else that happened was inconsequential.

Either way, Chase knew she was high when it happened. He had to have known. I knew the moment she walked into the hospital the morning afteward. Chase had to have noticed. And he did it anyway. He took advantage of it.

I figuresome people feel it was about time something happened between the beautiful people of the diagnostic department.

_Would have I stopped it?_ I surprised myself by thinking. _If it had been me in Chase's position, would I have been able to stop her? Would I have wanted to?_ I think about her hair, her huge eyes, everything else that makes her beautiful. _Would I have had the character to stop her?_

I don't know.

And I'm certain I'll never find out.

Scratch that. I'm determined I'll never find out.


	16. Part Sixteen: Awe

**Broken**

**House, M.D.**

**Part Sixteen: Awe**

It was a simple reaction. That's all. You would have done the same thing if you had been in my shoes.

Standing at my whiteboard. Fussing at my employees. Wearing my tuxedo. Still tasting the champagne and cigars on my tongue.

Sick kid in the ER.

"This case is twelve years old," Cameron said.

"Yep," I answered, not turning.

Foreman jumped in. "And this case is Cuddy's."

I rolled my eyes, still writing on my whiteboard. "She assigned it to me."

Chase sounded surprised. "She agrees with you that this is something more than gastroenteritis?"

How thick could they get?

"She wouldn't have assigned it to me if she didn't, would she?" I said and turned around and stopped.

I just stopped.

I stopped talking. I stopped thinking. I stopped being. I just stopped and stared at Cameron.

I'd never seen anyone or anything so beautiful in all my life.

The dark red evening gown she wore was strapless, baring her shoulders and slender clavicles. Her hair was curled and fell around her face as if a designer had placed it there. It was perfect. She was perfect.

And then I woke up.

She was blushing, looking away.

And I couldn't for the life of me remember what I had been talking about.

_Play it up. Act like it's just you being you._ "What were we talking about?"

Chase, smug son of a wombat, spoke up, "Two patients with two symptoms in common. And five symptoms not in common."

At that moment, I wanted to strangle him. Worse that I wanted to hurt him when he turned on me for Vogler's sake. And not because he was sounding smart, but because he had already been granted a precious gift—seeing Cameron with all her walls down, all her inhibitions thrown aside. It was something I would never see, and for a brief moment I hated him for it.

I was being silly. Stupid. I'd already gone through this conversation in my head.

I can't have her.

But seeing her like that—it suddenly made me want to change my mind.


End file.
